NightwingHogan's Heroes: Blackhawk Down!
by Syl
Summary: Lt. Dick Grayson is shot down while flying a fighter escort mission over Germany. It's up to Hogan's Heroes to get the young flyer back to Allied Lines.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Lt. Dick Grayson is shot down while flying a fighter escort mission over Germany. It's up Hogan's Heroes to get the young flyer back to Allied Lines. 

Disclaimer: Comic characters belong to DC/Vertigo and Time/Warner, whileHogan's Heroes is owned by Paramount, Viacom and others; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2004

****

Nightwing/Hogan's Heroes: Blackhawk Down!

By Syl Francis

****

Monday, May 29, 1944 (1400hrs, local)

Somewhere over Nazi Germany

****

"Blackhawk one to Blackhawk two! Come in! Dick! Come in!"  Col. Bruce Wayne, Blackhawk Squadron Leader, watched in horror as his son's P-51 Mustang spiraled out of sight, a black, oily plume of smoke trailing behind him. He'd always known it was a mistake to allow his adopted son to serve under him. But how could he ever have stopped him?

A second black plume marked the enemy plane that Dick had managed to take out just seconds before his own plane took a direct hit. Wayne didn't have time to follow the plumes to their inevitable fate. His squadron was flying fighter escort, protecting a large formation of B-17s, and had its hands full.

"He's gone, sir!" 1Lt. Wally West's quiet voice broke through the blackness that had descended. "I didn't see a 'chute."

"Man, oh man..." Wayne heard 1Lt. Roy Harper's voice repeating over and over in shocked monotone. "Man, oh man...not Dick."

"Can the chatter, Blackhawks!" Wayne bit out angrily. He felt the pain dangerously close to overwhelming him. "And keep your eyes peeled for bogies!"

"Blackhawk five to Blackhawk one! Sir, request permission to fly a recon mission!" 2Lt. Tim Drake's still boyish voice broke in. "I can do a quick flyby and search for survivors!"

"Hey, I'm with you Timmy!" Roy called. "Sir, request permission to accompany Blackhawk five--"

Blinking rapidly, Wayne hoarsely gave the order they knew he had to give. "Negative, Blackhawk five. We have a mission to accomplish, and I can't spare any of you. Fall back into escort formation."

"Blackhawk three, roger!" Harper replied stonily.

"Blackhawk four, copy!" West choked on his words.

"Blackhawk five...I copy, sir." Drake's young voice finally acknowledged Wayne's order. Dick had taken the youngster under his wing from the beginning, showing him the ropes, and making him his wingman. The junior Mustang pilot worshiped the ground Dick walked on; therefore, Wayne knew that the boy would take Dick's loss badly.

As will I, Wayne admitted silently. As will I.

With a roar of their powerful Merlin engines, the four remaining Mustangs banked gracefully, and once again took up their watchful positions around the larger, lumbering Flying Fortresses.

**** 

Fighting his controls, Lt. Grayson attempted to fly the crippled Mustang. He knew that he'd have to bail sooner rather than later. Looking up, he saw the B-17 formation continue on its bombing mission. The black smoke from anti-aircraft fire was so thick, he wondered how anything in the air could possibly survive its deadly onslaught. 

Grayson was momentarily overcome with guilt at the thought of what Bruce's reaction to his 'loss' would be. "I'm sorry, Big Guy," he said apologetically. He thought about the great losses that his stepfather had already suffered in his life and hated being responsible for bringing him any further pain.

But orders were orders.

The treetops were swiftly increasing in size, and Grayson realized that it was time. Quickly, he undid his safety straps and opened the plane's clear canopy. Hastily muttering a brief prayer, Grayson steeled himself and jumped. Spread-eagled, he delighted in the temporary feeling of free fall--bringing back memories of his boyhood days in the circus. Just for fun of it, he somersaulted a few times, enjoying the sudden rush of adrenaline. Waiting until the last possible moment, Grayson released his main chute.

Instantly, he felt his shoulders being pulled painfully back, and his rapid descent was abruptly checked. Moments later, Grayson was safely on the ground. Working quickly, he gathered his parachute and hid it in the underbrush as best he could.

Taking out his pistol, he gave it a cursory check. Satisfied, he replaced it in his holster. "Guess I'm as ready as I'm going to be." With those words, Grayson hurried off in an approximately north by northeast direction.

****

Monday, May 29, 1944 (1800hrs, local)

Stalag 13, Hammelburg, Germany

****

Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe, radioman and prisoner of war, concentrated on the series of dots and dashes that were coming over his headset. As he listened, he wrote the corresponding letters onto his notepad in his neat shorthand. At the end of the message, he tapped out an acknowledgement and removed the headsets. 

Opening the codebook, Kinchloe quickly decoded the message. A single, raised eyebrow was the only sign of concern over the contents. Finished, he tore out the communiqué and hurried upstairs to his commanding officer's quarters.

Ignoring the curious looks from the other Allied POWs, Kinchloe knocked briefly and entered without waiting for permission. Kinchloe immediately noted Col. Robert E. Hogan's look of surprise at his entrance. He knew that his CO had been studying a map of an underground munitions plant for an upcoming mission. Furthermore, Kinchloe also knew that because of surprise inspections in the past few weeks, coupled with a series of unannounced roll calls in the middle of the night, Hogan's usually meticulous planning had suffered a number of setbacks. 

Kinchloe wasn't happy that he was about to hand his CO and best friend yet another such setback.

Sighing, Hogan carelessly tossed his pencil and calipers aside; he was not surprised by the interruption, just resigned to it. Lately, nothing seemed to be going right. The Germans had been jumping at shadows since the Italy landings earlier that year. And now with the Germans' recent withdrawal at Anzio, talk of invasion of the European mainland was on everyone's lips--both friend and foe alike. 

Unfortunately, Hogan who was usually privy to so many Allied secrets had been deliberately left out of the loop this time. If there were an Allied invasion planned for the near future, he for one didn't have any of the details. Of course, he had his own sources--recently downed Allied flyers that consistently reported on an unprecedented build-up of men and materiel in England--but as yet, nothing definite.

But Allied invasion or no, Hogan had an ongoing mission to harass, disrupt, and otherwise keep the Germans occupied with his own unique blend of sabotage, subterfuge, and sleight of hand. In keeping with his mission, for the past six weeks he'd been planning the destruction of a munitions factory in time for the next full moon--June 6, 1944. Although only a week away, at his current rate, Hogan and his men would probably have to delay the mission yet another month. 

This would be a major setback, especially since he'd already coordinated with two local resistance groups to assist, as well as his favorite standby--the US Army Air Force. "You can take the flyboy out of the air corps, but you can't take the air corps out of the flyboy," he'd quipped to his men. But that was weeks ago, when he'd still thought he could pull the mission off as he had so many before. 

Now, Hogan only felt tired.

"Just received a coded message from London, sir," Kinchloe said, handing Hogan the small piece of paper. As he read the 'Most Secret' contents, Hogan's exhausted eyes became flint-hard, a familiar, determined light shining from within.

"Get the others," he ordered. Nodding, Kinchloe stuck his head out the door and called the rest of their team.

"Carter! LeBeau! Newkirk!" he barked. "Get the lead out, guys. The colonel wants to talk to us."

****

Two months earlier...

Friday, March 24, 1944 (2200hrs local)

The Knights' Pub, London, England

****

There was no moon out that Friday night, and the streets of London were largely deserted. The long years of war were finally beginning to take their toll on the city's residents. Up ahead, Grayson spotted the dark silhouette of the Knights' Pub, its blackened windows staring sightlessly out onto the empty streets. Standing outside the heavy oak door of the covered side entrance, Grayson could just make out the scratchy sound of a tinny voice produced by a worn-out phonograph player coming from inside.

Stepping inside, he barely recognized the voice of Bing Crosby, crooning the latest sentimental lyrics. Making his way to a secluded corner booth, Grayson slid in and immediately ordered two pints. He wasn't crazy about warm English beer, but it was the only thing available. By the same token, he wasn't crazy about this particular meeting, but Maj. Boston Brand had insisted. Like Grayson, Brand was a former circus performer. And the reason he's now going to attempt to recruit me, Grayson thought. 

As soon as the beers arrived, Grayson spotted Brand walking towards him. Sliding into the seat immediately across from Grayson, Brand accepted the pint offered, and took a long draught without speaking. Finally, coming up for air, Brand let out a satisfied sigh and got down to business.

"Okay, Lieutenant, this is the deal. I never knew your parents personally, but everyone in the business knows about the Flying Graysons. They were two of the best, and their deaths were a great loss to the world of the circus." He paused and held up his beer mug. "A toast! To the Flying Graysons! The best-damned aerialists--with the possible exception of yours truly--" he added, pointed immodestly at himself. "--in the whole world." Not waiting for Grayson's response, Brand tossed his head back and chugged the rest of his beer. Putting his mug down, Brand leaned in closer, and then to Grayson's surprise added, "But kid, their loss was also a great blow to the government of the United States."

"What? I don't understand--" Grayson protested.

Brand held his hands up for quiet, and then proceeded to fill Grayson in on his parents' work for the US Secret Service. "Grayson, in the early 1930s, while wowing audiences across Europe--under their guise as world-renowned aerialists on tour with The Haly Circus--John and Mary Grayson provided the Secret Service with vital information on the growing power of the German Nazi Party."

Grayson shook his head. "Major, this is ridiculous. My parents were performers. They'd both grown up in the circus, just like their parents before them. I don't know where you got your information, but I assure you--"

"Grayson, your parents were professional agents working for the US government, but they were also your parents. Of course, they never told you. How old were you when they died? Six? Seven?"

"I was eight," Grayson said softly.

"Okay, eight," Brand nodded. "You were just a kid, in other words. Your parents wouldn't have told you in order to protect you."

Grayson shook his head, still unable to accept the fact that his parents had held secrets from him. Keeping his dark blue eyes on Brand's, he finally said, "Okay, suppose it's all true. What does that have to do with me?"

"Before your parents were killed," Brand said carefully, "they reported on some new aeronautics research that the Germans were just beginning."

"Like what?"

"Like long-range bombers with the capability of reaching the US mainland. Bombers so fast, they could outrun anything that we have currently in our inventory...." 

"What, *bombers* faster than the Mustang?" Grayson said, his expression showing his disbelief. 

"Not just faster, son," Brand said. "Ten times faster." Gauging the effect his words were having on the younger officer, Brand continued. "And let's not forget about their size...We're talking about planes so vast in size that they could dwarf some of our navy transports. Think of it son...a single payload on one of these monsters could be enough to wipe out an entire city--*several* cities!"

"But that's impossible!" Grayson snorted. "Why, there's nothing bigger than that new super-fortress that Boeing's just developed." This last was added in a very low voice.

"Really?" Brand asked. "Your parents died twelve years ago, shortly after sending HQ this report. Since then, we've lost a total of twelve agents whose sole mission was to find out more about these so-called 'Amerika Bombers'--one agent for each year since your parents' accidental deaths." He paused, studying the younger man. Finally, he added, "And we've never really been able to pinpoint just how 'accidental' their deaths *really* were."

Grayson went completely still. Mom and dad murdered? he wondered. Could it be true? After a long minute, Grayson finally looked up at Brand and steadily held his eyes.

"There's one other thing...before our last agent, codenamed Green Arrow, was lost, we received a report that there had been a sudden advancement in the development of the project." Brand shook his head. "Most of his message was garbled, but we did manage to decode two words--Project Themyscira." At Grayson's look of incomprehension, Brand shrugged. "We don't know what it means."

"Okay, Major. I'm ready to listen..."

****

End of Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Grayson meets Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, and of course, Carter!     

Disclaimer: Comic characters belong to DC/Vertigo and Time/Warner, whileHogan's Heroes is owned by Paramount, Viacom and others; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2004

****

Nightwing/Hogan's Heroes: Blackhawk Down!

By Syl Francis

****

(The present...)

Tuesday, May 30, 1944 (0200hrs, local)

Woods outside 

Hammelburg, Germany

****

As Grayson waited, crouched in the heavy German forest, he wondered not for the first time if his parents' deaths had indeed not been accidental, as Brand had implied. Since his meeting with the OSS operative, Grayson again mulled over Brand's words. He shook his head. It was just too painful to accept that his parents' deaths had been a deliberate act of murder.

He sighed, wishing he'd been able to talk out his suspicions with his stepfather and wondering yet again as to the coincidence of Bruce Wayne's presence at the very performance in which his parents met their untimely deaths. Also orphaned as a child when his own parents had been killed before his eyes, Wayne identified almost immediately with eight-year-old Dick Grayson's plight, and petitioned the court to adopt him.

Getting his bearings once more, Grayson proceeded to the rendezvous point, a crossroads located about two kilometers outside of the town of Hammelburg, Germany.

According to Brand, Grayson's contact codenamed 'Papa Bear' was one of the most successful underground leaders in Germany and would supply him with the men and assistance he'd need to accomplish his mission. Checking his watch, Grayson felt a sudden stab of impatience. It was 0212 hrs. Where *was* his mysterious contact? he wondered. He was already two minutes late.

The next instant he felt the cold, metallic bore of a weapon's muzzle on the back of his neck. Instinct taking over, Grayson kicked up and backwards with the speed of a cobra, and dislodged the offending weapon from his surprised ambusher's hand. In less than a heartbeat, he was holding his attacker in a headlock.

Unfortunately, he was also surrounded. Three shadowy figures had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. They each held German Schmeissers aimed directly at him. Grayson angled his captive between him and the weapons. "If you shoot me, you kill your friend," he warned.

The taller of three shadows spoke, "If you want peace--"

Grayson's ears perked at the cryptic words. "--Prepare for war," he finished. At Grayson's response, the tall shadow moved forward, and lowering his weapon, revealed himself to be a black man. "Nightwing, I assume?" he asked. Grayson nodded at the mention of his codename. The black soldier called to the others, "Newkirk! Carter! Lower your weapons. Carter, take point."

One of the shadows immediately broke away and made his way to the crossroads. Grayson was impressed by Carter's easy professionalism. He watched as the soldier checked to see if the coast was clear before running across the road and quickly fading into the dark woods beyond. 

The next instant, the night's stillness was abruptly shattered. A series of loud crashes accompanied by several painful yelps came in the direction from whicb Carter had disappeared. 

In the ensuing silence, Grayson and the other men froze in place.

The next moment a slightly embarrassed voice called from the other side of the road. "Uh...I'm okay, fellas...I, um, tripped. Sorry!"

A loud breath being suddenly exhaled, caught Grayson's attention. He looked down at his diminutive attacker who was suddenly struggling against him with renewed vigor. "Let me go! I'll *kill* him! Kinch, I swear that *this* time--!"

"Oh, calm down, Louis!" The remaining soldier who'd been quiet until now spoke with a distinct British accent. Not like Alfred's, Grayson thought, but more Cockney. "Anyone who wants to kill Carter has to stand in line--behind me!"

"Knock it off, you two--!" Kinchloe growled. "--Before you bring the whole Kraut Army down on top of us." The Frenchman muttered something unintelligible under his breath, while the Englishman looked on with amusement.

"Excusez-moi?" The small Frenchman looked up at Grayson. "Do you not suppose that it is time to release me?" He asked this last with a slight shrug. Grayson looked surprised. He'd forgotten that he was still holding the little guy. Remembering the cold feel of the weapon's muzzle against the back of his neck, Grayson was about to refuse, but finally let him go. His expression slightly rueful, the little man said sardonically, "Merci beaucoup."

"You okay, LeBeau?" Kinchloe asked.

"Oui, I am okay," LeBeau replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good." Kinchloe turned to Grayson. "We're here to escort you to Papa Bear. Keep close and do everything we say. No questions asked." At Grayson's dark glare, Kinchloe added by way of explanation, "These woods are regularly patrolled, and we've already stayed out longer than I like."

Nodding, Grayson fell in behind him. "Where are we going?"

"To our very own lovely corner of Hell," the English soldier answered.

"Can the chatter, Newkirk," Kinchloe snapped.

"What's he talking about?" Grayson asked.

"You'll find out soon enough, buddy," Kinchloe replied. "LeBeau, Newkirk--cover the crossroads." The two men instantly took up positions along the road, and Kinchloe nodded grimly at Grayson. "Follow me."

**** 

Tuesday, May 30, 1944 (0320hrs, local)

Woods outside 

LuftStalag 13

****

"A prisoner of war camp?!" Grayson hissed. He gave Kinchloe an incredulous look. "Are you *kidding*?!"

"Home sweet home, mate," Newkirk quipped.

"It's really not so bad once you get used to it," Carter added helpfully. 

"The trouble is...who can get used to it?" LeBeau asked philosophically.

"Knock it off, you guys!" Kinchloe growled. "Carter, take the point." As Carter was about to move out, Kinchloe caught him by the collar. "And Carter...? Try not to trip this time." 

"You bet, Kinch!" Carter said with an ingenuous nod. Jumping up, he took off at a low crouch, and promptly tripped. He fell in heap into a stand of heavy underbrush. Almost instantaneously, a hand appeared and waved at them from behind the high brush. "I'm okay!" The hand promptly disappeared.

Kinchloe slapped his hand across his eyes. Newkirk and LeBeau both shook their heads and rolled their eyes. 

"Does he do that often?" Grayson asked nodding in Carter's direction.

"Does the sun rise in the east?" LeBeau asked.

"Newkirk, cover the rear," Kinchloe said tiredly. "LeBeau, Nightwing...let's go." Grayson shook his head. He was beginning to wonder if these men knew what they were doing. Furthermore, the young OSS agent was growing annoyed, because Brand hadn't said anything about a POW camp!

Kinchloe led them through the thick underbrush, his fluid movements sure of his footing. He had obviously traveled these woods before. Grayson caught LeBeau's eye. The tiny Frenchman gave him a quick grin and a thumb's up. Grayson smiled in turn, but couldn't help his growing sense of unease.

Finally, Kinchloe called a halt. They waited among a stand of trees until a low shadow appeared ahead of them. Grayson held his breath, his weapon ready. The next minute Carter's mild features became barely discernable in the dark night.

"Kinch, it's all clear," he whispered. "Schultzie's on duty--which means he's probably taking a nap--so the other guards are over by the mess hall having a smoke."

"Good ol' Schultzie," Newkirk muttered, "the Allies' secret weapon." Grayson almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn't even noticed that the Englishman had joined them. First, Carter stumbled through the woods like a one-man herd of elephants. Now, Newkirk seemed to glide through the shadows like a ghost. Where'd these guys learn their stealth tactics? he wondered.

"G-2 oughtta bottle Schultz or something," Kinchloe was saying. The others grinned almost fondly.

"Who's Schultz?" Grayson asked.

"You'll find out," Kinchloe said. "Carter, you first. And Carter...?" At Carter's questioning look, Kinchloe merely shook his head and waved him on. "Oh, never mind! Get going." Nodding, Carter moved out. LeBeau, then Newkirk soon followed. Kinchloe turned to Grayson. "Nightwing, you're with me. Let's go." With that the two men took off in the others' wake. After 50 feet or so, Kinchloe again called a halt. "Okay, buddy, this is it." 

Grayson looked around, clearly not understanding. They were crouched next to a tree stump in the middle of the nowhere. "What--?" At that moment, the 'tree stump' unexpectedly opened, revealing a hidden tunnel entrance. LeBeau's head suddenly popped out.

"Kinch...!" he hissed. "The Colonel is waiting!" At Grayson's look of complete incongruity, he added with a happy smile, "I made a Delice Napoleon that is to *die* for! Hurry, before the others eat it all!" As the French corporal's head disappeared back inside the tree trunk, Grayson, still in shock, continued to stare at the now empty space.

A sudden tap on the shoulder brought Grayson back to reality. Kinchloe indicated that he go in first. "You heard the man...the colonel's waiting."

****

End of Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Lt. Grayson meets Col. Hogan, and Schultz finally knows **_something_**!

Author's Note: Thanks to Char and Sandra for their beta-reading. Their comments definitely made this section all the better.

Disclaimer: Comic characters belong to DC/Vertigo and Time/Warner, whileHogan's Heroes is owned by Paramount, Viacom and others; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright June 2004

====

Nightwing/Hogan's Heroes: Blackhawk Down!

By Syl Francis

====

Tuesday, May 30, 1944 (0400hrs, local)

Tunnel system underneath

LuftStalag 13

====

Kinchloe noted that the look on Grayson's face wasn't much different from the one he had when the trap door had opened next to him. At least he no longer had his mouth open, Kinchloe thought wryly. They'd hurried through the main tunnel until it opened onto the communications and operations center. From there, other tunnels branched off in several directions.

With each new discovery, the young flyer's perplexed expression changed to one of amazed wonder. "Where do all these branches go?" Grayson asked. "How long did it take to dig--?" He stopped when Kinchloe held his hand up for quiet. Grayson turned to see a senior officer--a colonel by the silver eagles on his collar--who was currently on the radio with 'Mama Bear.' Grayson turned to Kinchloe with a questioning look.

Leaning closer, Kinchloe explained sotto voce, "That's Col. Hogan, codename Papa Bear. Mama Bear is our contact submarine, located somewhere in the North Sea. She generally surfaces once every 48 hours to relay messages to and from London." Grayson nodded and was about to ask another question, when Kinchloe again signaled for quiet.

"Your orders stand, Papa Bear. Nightwing's mission takes priority--most urgent! I repeat--most urgent!" Hogan shook his head in disgust and glanced over at Grayson, his disappointment obvious. Then, as if accepting the inevitable, Hogan nodded.

"Acknowledged, Mama Bear," he said. "Papa Bear out." Hogan took a moment to replace the mike, his back to the men. Composing himself, Kinchloe knew. Finally, he turned to face them. "The munitions plant is off," he said.

"But what about Tiger, Colonel?" LeBeau demanded.

"Yeah, boy--uh, I mean, sir," Carter chimed in. "We can't just leave her there!"

"What if she gets caught?" Newkirk asked.

At the chorus of protests from the others, Hogan held his hands up for quiet. "It's only temporary," he said. Nodding at Grayson, he added, "Tiger will just have to hold out a little longer. At least until we finish this new mission. **_Whatever_** it is!"

At his words, they all turned their attention on Grayson. Before he could say anything, however, Hogan asked. "Nightwing, I presume?"

"Grayson, sir," Grayson said formally, snapping to attention and saluting sharply. "Lt. Richard Grayson, reporting." Hogan gravely returned the younger officer's salute and held his hand out. They shook. Glancing at his watch, Hogan addressed them all.

"Okay, fellas, it's almost time for morning roll call. Everybody back in their bunks."

"But what about the new mission, mon colonel?" LeBeau asked. "Should Lt. Grayson not brief us as to what it is going to be? The sooner we finish it, the sooner we can help Tiger."

"Yeah, boy...uh-I mean, Colonel," Carter said. "Shouldn't we--?"

"It'll have to wait, fellas," Hogan insisted. "We can't miss roll call, and we have to be back in our bunks before Schultz comes in to wake us up in another couple of minutes." LeBeau looked like he was about to protest, but Hogan added, "We don't want Schultz to ask any embarrassing questions, do we?"

"Schultz ask questions, Colonel?" Newkirk scoffed. "He's too afraid he might learn something!"

"Isn't **_that_** the truth?" Kinchloe agreed. "Then he wouldn't 'know nothing' anymore!" The others chuckled as they started climbing a ladder that Grayson assumed led to their quarters.

"Kinch!" Hogan called, stopping the black sergeant from following the others up the ladder. "A word." At Kinchloe's questioning look, Hogan asked, "Any trouble on the way out or back?"

Kinchloe shook his head. "No, sir." Seeing a familiar look of worry on his commanding officer's face, he narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask, Colonel?"

Sighing, Hogan glanced away momentarily and then back again. "We lost contact with Tiger." Kinchloe drew in a swift breath.

"How long?"

Shrugging, Hogan began to pace. "We're not sure. According to her underground unit, she successfully got a position at the munitions plant. The forged papers Newkirk drew up for her, which identified her as a guest worker, obviously did their job. That was three days ago. About twenty hours ago, they received a coded message from her, stating that she was following a tip about someone codenamed Green Arrow--"

"Green Arrow?" Grayson interrupted. "Are you **_sure_**? About Green Arrow, I mean?" At Hogan's look of surprise, Grayson snapped to attention instantly and apologized. "Begging the Colonel's pardon, sir!"

"At ease, Grayson," Hogan said. "What do you know of Green Arrow?"

Relaxing slightly, Grayson shook his head. "Not much, sir. Green Arrow is OSS. He was on a mission for us, but was lost almost a year ago. His last message was mostly indecipherable, but the code breakers were able to make out two words--'Project Themiscyra'." He shrugged. "That's why **_I'm_** here. To find out what exactly Project Themiscyra **_is_** and destroy it if necessary."

"Themiscyra...Themiscyra..." Hogan murmured. "Where have I heard that term before?"

"Wasn't that the legendary island home of the Amazons?" Kinchloe asked. "From Greek mythology, I mean." Grayson nodded.

"Yes, sir...According to legend the Amazons supposedly retreated to Themiscyra after their queen was betrayed by Heracles. They renounced all contact with 'Man's World' and went into permanent seclusion for the rest of eternity."

"Colonel, you don't suppose that Project Themiscyra involves the Nazis' idea of building a better woman--an Amazon?" Kinchloe asked.

"One could only hope, Kinch," Hogan replied with a sly grin. "One could only hope."

====

Tuesday, May 30, 1944 (0530hrs, local)

LuftStalag 13

====

"Diiissss-missed!"

The POWs fell out of formation as soon as Col. Klink, the camp kommandant, gave Hogan his usual, overly exaggerated morning salute. Maj. Hochstetter, their friendly neighborhood Gestapo agent, stood waiting impatiently for Klink on the front steps leading up to the kommandant's office.

This was Hochstetter's seventh visit to the Stalag 13 in just one week. "Something's rotten in Denmark," Hogan muttered. Although anxious to return to his barracks, the senior POW stopped to chat with Sgt. Schultz. One never knew what his favorite camp guard might let slip while insisting that he knew nothing.

At Hogan's innocuous greeting, Schultz became immediately suspicious, and shook his head, muttering, "I know **_nothing_**! Nothing!"

Hogan rolled his eyes. "All I said was 'good morning, Schultz,'" he protested. "No need to get all German on me."

"Oui, Schultzie," LeBeau agreed. "You are becoming more and more like a dirty Kraut every day!"

"I am?" Schultz asked. At their nods, Schultz dropped his eyes in shame. "I am so sorry, Col. Hogan. I did not mean to be."

Hogan threw his arm around the rotund sergeant's shoulders. "That's quite all right, Schultz. We forgive you. Don't we, fellas?" His other men had joined them by then, effectively surrounding Schultz. They all nodded in agreement.

"Sure, Schultzie," Newkirk said reasonably. "It's not **_your_** fault you're a bloody Kraut."

"Danke, danke," Schultz murmured. "You are all such **_nice_** boys!"

"Think nothing of it, Schultz," Hogan said. All the men quickly shook hands with the befuddled German guard. "Oh, and by the way, Schultz...You, um...you don't happen to know anything about--?"

"Are you kidding, boy--uh, I mean, Colonel?" Carter interrupted. "Schultzie never knows **_anything_**!" Hogan glared at Carter for the interruption. Carter immediately dropped his eyes in embarrassment.

"I guess, Carter's right," Hogan said, patting Schultz on the shoulder and regretfully moving away. "You probably wouldn't know why ol' smiley--Hochstetter--has been dropping by all week, would you?"

Schultz quickly shook his head. "No! I don't know anything!" he insisted.

"Not even about Themiscyra?" Hogan asked softly. He knew he was taking a chance, but if Schultz really didn't know anything, then there was no harm done. Hogan knew that the timid German sergeant would 'remember nothing' about the question in order to protect himself. Schultz's response came as somewhat of a surprise.

"Themiscyra!?" Schultz asked, shocked. "Col. Hogan! How did you--? No!" He broke away from the circle of Allied POWs. "I know nothing!"

As if by magic, LeBeau suddenly held a plate of the Delice Napoleon directly under Schultz's nose. Hogan grinned. He had ordered LeBeau to prepare a fancy dessert the night before just for an opportunity such as this. He hadn't been sure whether he'd be able to glean any useful information from Schultz, of course, but from long experience, he knew that the way to break through Schultz's timidity was through his stomach.

After just one sniff, the German sergeant closed his eyes and looked like he was going to faint. He made a move as if to grab the plate, but LeBeau was too quick for him. He passed it to Newkirk, who through a bit of sleight of hand, made it disappear just as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Themiscyra first," Hogan said softly. "Then, the Delice Napoleon."

Schultz shook his head in fright. "Col. Hogan, please! I know nothing!"

"I know, I know, Schultz!" Hogan said soothingly. "So, whatever you say can't be of any use to us, right?" Schultz blinked in confusion at Hogan's words. Newkirk magically held the delicious dessert under Schultz's nose again. At the faint aroma, Schultz again closed his eyes in anticipation. He was about to reach for it, when it disappeared yet again! In frustration, Schultz shrugged.

"I've only heard rumors, Col. Hogan."

"What kind of rumors?"

Schultz shrugged. "The usual nonsense...That with this new discovery or invention, we will defeat the Allies and win the war."

"What new discovery, Schultz?" Hogan pressed. "What new invention?"

Schultz caught sight of the dessert being passed from Newkirk to Kinchloe. To Schultz's shock, Kinchloe brought a fork out of one of his pockets. The black sergeant gave him a wide grin and deliberately brought the fork down on the dessert.

"Stop!" Schultz yelled. The men froze in a momentary tableau in the middle of the parade grounds. "Please, Col. Hogan...I swear I don't know anything--"

"Oh, well, if you say so, Schultz," Hogan said with a shrug. "Let's go, fellas. Hey, Louis...you don't happen to have anymore of that--what did you call it?"

"Delice Napoleon," LeBeau replied.

"Yeah...that?"

"Non, mon Colonel," LeBeau said with a sad shake of his head. "I am afraid that Kinchloe has the last piece." He pointed in Kinchloe's direction. Kinchloe waved the fork in an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry, fellas. Last piece, I'm afraid."

"Last...piece?" Schultz spoke in a small voice.

"Oui, Schultzie," LeBeau said. "And I'm afraid that I don't have the necessary ingredients to make anymore. Not for quite awhile anyway."

"Gee...that's a shame, Louis," Hogan said with a shake of his head. "It sure was tasty."

"Yeah, boy...real tasty!" Carter offered. They all turned to go.

"Sgt. Kinchloe...?" The POWs all stopped at the sound of Schultz's voice. "I don't suppose you would allow me just one small taste?" Giving the others an ironic glance, Kinchloe immediately started back towards Schultz. Gallantly offering the German guard his fork, Kinchloe somehow managed to keep the dessert plate just out of his reach. And Hogan was suddenly standing cheek-to-cheek to Schultz.

"Themiscyra, Schultz," he whispered. "What kind of rumors?" Schultz closed his eyes and sighed in defeat.

"I overheard Maj. Hochstetter talking to Col. Klink a few days ago," Schultz began.

"How many days ago?" Hogan prompted. "Hochstetter's been in and out of camp for the past week." Schultz shrugged.

"The first night he came?" Schultz asked. At Hogan's look of impatience, he quickly nodded and said, "Yes...the first night Maj. Hochstetter came this week...Sunday, I believe." Schultz swallowed nervously. "I was standing guard just outside the kommandant's door and accidentally happened to open it just a crack--"

Newkirk snorted in derision. "Just happened to--?" Kinchloe elbowed him, and Newkirk promptly shut his mouth.

"Yes, yes..." Schultz insisted.

"Okay, okay, Schultz," Hogan said softly. "We believe you. Now, after you accidentally cracked open the door, did you just happen to **_accidentally_** overhear anything?"

"Ja, ja, I did." Schultz looked meaningfully at the dessert. Hogan gave Kinchloe a curt nod, and Kinchloe promptly allowed Schultz to cut out a forkful of Delice Napoleon. They watched as the German guard eagerly brought it up to his waiting lips. At the taste, Schutlz's knees went limp and he almost fainted in ecstasy.

"Easy, boy...easy," Hogan murmured. "You were saying that you accidentally overheard something...?" Schultz nodded dreamily.

"Heavenly..." Schultz enunciated each syllable prayerfully. Hogan punched him none-to-gently on the arm, bringing him back down to earth. "Oh, yes. As I was saying..." Unbidden, Schultz's eyes drifted back to the dessert. Unable to control himself, he reached for the plate, but Kinchloe pulled it out of his reach while Hogan and Newkirk held the corpulent sergeant back.

"Oh no you don't, Schultzie," Newkirk said. "Not until you tell us what you 'accidentally' overheard." Schultz gave them all a look of profound hurt, but at last he nodded in defeat.

"Very well," he said. "Maj. Hochstetter told Col. Klink that the Gestapo is holding several very special prisoners. He said that they were captured about a month ago on an island in the Aegean Sea. About twelve years ago, one of our test pilots, Captain Stephen Rogers, had engine trouble and made a forced landing on this island. To his surprise, the island was not any known navigational map. He was befriended by the inhabitants who helped him fix his plane and even showed him ways to improve engine performance."

Schultz paused in his recitation, giving a longing look at the dessert. Sighing, Kinchloe complied by allowing him another bite-sized piece. Schultz smiled in utter happiness. Hogan waited impatiently, but decided that it was best to give Schultz his lead. Finally, Schultz began again.

"Maj. Hochstetter said that the plane that Capt. Rogers was flying was one of the most advanced of the time, but the inhabitants of this island--primatives at first glance--were able to make major modifications to the engine and fuselage to help it perform almost ten times better than the original specifications. Capt. Rogers managed to convince one of the inhabitants--a beautiful fraulein--to accompany him back to Germany, and since then she has shared the science of her people, and it has been of great help in improving the planes of our mighty Luftwaffe." He looked at Hogan. "That is all I know, Col. Hogan. I swear!"

Hogan nodded. "Thanks, Schultz. It's more than--"

"Oh, there is one more thing," Schultz said with a chuckle. "Something silly, I know. The Gestapo sent a team of scientists back to the fraulein's island to see if they could find out more of their science." He stopped and a strange look came over him. "But when they reached the coordinates that Capt. Rogers had given them, the island was gone." He shook his head. "According to Maj. Hochstetter, the fraulein claimed that the island--which she calls Themiscyra--was only visible once every twelve years, and then for only two moon cycles." He shrugged.

Hogan gave Schultz a look of deep skepticism. "Schultz...I know ol' Bubblehead--Hitler--believes in astrology and the supernatural--"

"Yeah...a bunch of voodoo mumbo-jumbo jazz," Kinchloe added.

"But even **_he_** can't really believe that an island can just appear and disappear?" Hogan demanded.

"Yeah, boy!" Carter interrupted. "That's just impossible!"

"See, Schultzie?" Newkirk said sarcastically. "Even Carter says it's impossible." Carter gave Newkirk a pleased look.

"All I know is what I heard," Shultz said with a shrug. "It was there when Capt. Rogers was forced to land on it, and then it was gone."

"And that was twelve years ago," Hogan murmured. He gave Schultz a penetrating look. "Schultz...you said you overheard Hochstetter saying that the Gestapo had captured **_several_** special prisoners about a month ago, didn't you?" At Schultz's nod, Hogan spoke to his men. "I stand corrected, fellas. Apparently, it's been twelve years and a month."

====

End of Part 3


End file.
